Aren't plot bunnies great? Yep, this one bit me during Christmas dinner, which caused quite a disturbance I can tell you. This is a little odd I know, but I hope it is enjoyed. I just want to make it clear that this is AU, Alternate Universe; I know there is generally always someone who does not know the difference so I wish to make it absolutely clear.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm even borrowing my body from God, and I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Though I did create some original characters, they are based on Tolkien's works so I claim no ownership.

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~Friday's Child~

"Come, Legolas!" called Galdol, pausing and looking behind. The forest of Mirkwood, a dark and foreboding place at the best of times, grew even more so the closer they drew to Dol Guldor. The trees grew closer together, and the air became steadily more stifling, yet despite it there was an unnatural chill which seemed to come not from the air, but to creep up from the ground and into your very bones, and the group of Elvish hunters grew more cautious as the trees stirred omniously in a non-existant wind. The young Elf called Legolas bounded fleet as a deer to Galdol's side, his green and brown garb blending seamlessly with the darkness of the forest, as did his ebony hair, bound back from his fair face with an intricate braid.

"My apologies, Galdol!" he exclaimed, coming to a halt, one slender hand resting almost casually on the handle of the long white knife at his side. "You seem to move ever swifter, and try as I might I cannot keep up!" Galdol laid a hand on the younger Elf's shoulder; this was Legolas's third trip this deep into the forest, and he was still getting to know the trees and paths through this part of Mirkwood, whereas Galdol and the other Elves on the hunting expedition had travelled this way many times, and their light feet trod the paths with a speed unmatched by any other two-legged creature.

"Worry not, Legolas," he said in reassurance. "We shall try to steady our feet. Now come!" Then, soundlessly, they sprang away after their companions into the lingering shadows beneath the bows of the trees.

~~~

There was silence, and Galdol liked it not. There was nothing, not one living thing stirred, and it was unnatural; no spiders, no orcs, even the trees seemed quieter; not even one of the infamous black squirrels of Mirkwood scampered through the branches above. His instincts were on edge, his sensitive ears straining for any sound, but there was none, save the occasional swish of a cloak or creak of a branch.

"Galdol!" a dark-haired Elf by the name of Helder appeared at his side, a slender long-bow in his hand. "Galdol, something is not right; my blood runs chill. I suggest that we send a scout ahead."

Galdol glanced at Legolas, whose face was determined, though uncertaintly flickered in his sharp grey eyes. The King Thranduil had placed Galdol in charge of his youngest son, and it was his place to protect the young Elf. "I will go," he said eventually. "Remain here whilst I am gone. I will whistle once like a barn owl if it is safe, and once like a screech owl if otherwise." Helder nodded his acceptance. "Legolas," Galdol turned to the onyx-haired Elf, "stay with Helder." Then, he turned and sprinted away, nipped expertly through the trees, following the winding path. Away from the company, his sensed, already honed to near perfection, seemed to sharped even moreso. He fitted an arrow to his bow, his keen eyes glancing all around as his tireless feet carried him onwards, and still there was no sound. No sound, but something else. Galdol slowed, wary and cautious. Death was in the air, he was sure of it. There was a small clearing ahead, and he gradually tightened his bowstring, his movements becmae more deliberate; if he had been soundless before, there was no word for what he was now.

But as he passed from the dense forest into the clearing, all thoughts of fighting fled his mind. Dwarves! Four of them! There were signs of a battle; blood stained the ground, both black and red. Several orc bodies were strewn about the clearing, along with their trademark crudely-crafted scimitars and heavy crossbows. Two of the dead dwarves grasped swords; one had been stabbed many times, and the other was pierced with a thick crossbow bolt, and they had obviously gone down fighting, as had the others. One of these clutched a double-bladed battle axe, and the other a lighter, single-bladed one, both of exceptional quality. When Galdol examined the last Dwarf, he started slightly, and a gasp escaped him. Why, he was no more than a boy! Though he was bearded, like all dwarves, it was no more than a goatee, with a small moustache, and his face was round and smooth, and a gash ran along one cheek. As Galdol knelt by the body in disbelief, he noticed that there was still colour in the youngster's cheeks, as compared to the deathly paleness of his comrades. Scarcely daring to believe, Galdol leant closer, and his heart leapt; he was breathing, albeit rather shallowly.

Raising his head, and staring into the eaves of the forest from which he had come, he gave a loud whistle, then he bent over the young Dwarf. Though Elves cared little for the Naugrim, thinking them dirty, gold-grabbing, selfish creatures, Galdol was a kind-hearted Elf and could not leave the boy, and something about him had touched the hunter. Perhaps it was his peasant-like clothing; a patched, faded tunic, with similarly worn trousers, battered, old boots and a frayed hood. Slipping his light pack from his shoulder, the Elf leant over the Dwarf, and busied himself with bathing the deep gash on his cheek.

"Galdol!" Helder, Legolas and the rest of the party had arrived, with looks of shock, confusion and distaste on their faces.

"What is happening?" asked Helder, drawing close and dropping to his knees beside Galdol, and looking down at the Dwarf with something close to disgust mingled with disbelief.

"I know not." Galdol replied calmly, as he ran his hands lightly over his patient's body, checking for other injuries. "I found them as they are now; the elder Naugrim are dead, but this young one lives. I do not understand how they came to be here, but we cannot leave this one."

"And why not?" another Elf burst out from where he had been studying the slain orcs. "The Naugrim give us no aid, why should we not grant them the same treatment?"

"Why, Laros?" Galdol asked, standing up and staring hard at the smaller Elf. "Would you leave a youngster, alone and injured, to die a slow, painful death, a senseless waste of life, be they mortal or nay, because of an age-old prejudice of our ancestors? Because if that would be your way, so be it, but it is not mine, and I lead this party." Laros had the grace to look shamefaced, and he bowed his head in respect.

Carefully, Galdol knelt and prised the axe from the Dwarf's grip, which proved a task, for the Dwarf's strong hand held his weapon tightly. Then, without speaking, he handed the axe to Helder, and picked the Dwarf up, one arm around his back, supporting his shoulders, and the other under his legs. Dwarves were naturally heavy, but this one was young and small; he bore no armour, and was obviously starving, for Galdol had felt the child's ribs when he had been checking for additional injuries, and the strong Elven hunter was able to carry the Dwarf with little trouble.

It was a long journey back through Mirkwood, though they had thankfully come no more than half a day from the Elven King's halls, having set out that morning, though as they travelled South, towards Dol Guldor the forest had become denser, making their path more difficult. Now they were burdened with the Dwarf, they were not as swift as they would have been otherwise. As the forest grew greener, and the trees wider spaced, allowing for air and sunlight to creep through, the leaves were stained red and gold in the setting sun, and Illuin was rising high into the sky in his eternal pursuit of Arnor.* It was in this hour that they reached Thranduil's stone halls.

"Hail, Galdol!" called one of the guards of the gate. "You have returned early; we were not expecting you until at least the eve of tomorrow."

"Aye, Fedral," Galdol replied. "But we came upon a circumstance we certainly did not expect. But now is not the time for talking; we must get this Dwarf to a healer."

"A Dwarf!" Fedral's eyes grew wide as he stared at the body of the Dwarf in Galdol's arms. "How come's this?"

"Later, I promise you," Galdol said. "But he is injured, and needs to be seen to."

Fedral hesitated. He, and all others present, knew that the King did not approve of Dwarf's, and would most certainly not allow this one to enter his hall.

"Fedral," Legolas came forward, his face pleading. "I know my father would probably not allow it, and he is not fond of the Naugrim, but none of us here are. Yet, Galdol has done the noble thing and rescued this one, who is but a child, and I think we would do well to reward his nobility and try to save that which he has taken such pains to give a chance of life to." Fedral looked at the face of Thranduil's youngest son, and nodded.

"Very well," he said, signalling for the gates to be opened. "But remember that it was not my decision to bring a Naug into the King's Halls!"

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Whoot, chapter one! I hope people are enjoying this and will review. Also, I need a beta, so if anyone feels like offering (it's the season of goodwill, peeps!) please say so in your review.

Cheers, and Merry Christmas one and all!

~Kalimac~